Saving the Soldier
by Jacek.Renley
Summary: When the Winter Soldier traveled to the Smithsonian Captain America exhibit, he didn't leave alone. A strange orphaned 13 year old girl takes him in, revealing that he's not as alone as he thinks he is. Brother-sister relationship between Bucky and OC. Rated T due to paranoia and possible violence in future chapters. Doesn't include Captain America yet, he will come in around Ch. 5
1. Saved

**Author's Note:** Hello again my readers, and welcome to the new and improved version of Saving the Soldier. After exploring the site some more, I realized that I can just replace the current chapters instead of posting a new version of the story. I would have loved to continue the story straight away, but just rereading the first chapter to familiarize myself with it again was a cringe fest, so here's an edited version (How did I get away with changing the tense from present to past mid chapter? I'm just going to leave the very beginning in past to set the setting). If you're still reading this author's note, and you've read the chapters of the old story, you'll be pleased to know that although it's easier to read now, nothing important was changed, so you don't have to read this chapter to continue once I've caught up. Have fun!

I do not own anything from any published works.

Captain America Exhibit, The Smithsonian

A tall, well-built man wearing dark clothes stood alone facing the James Buchanan Barnes display in the Captain America exhibit. His long hair, reaching the base of his neck, was tucked behind his ears under a plain dark green baseball cap, which shadowed his unshaven face and haunted eyes.

He was so absorbed in the exhibit that, in spite of years of conditioning, a young teenager came to stand next to him without his notice.

The young girl, of almost fourteen years, wore a navy blue and white striped sweater, black jeans, navy blue converse with a skull design on each side, and an orange, grey, black, and white scarf. A black messenger bag with green designs was slung across her chest. Her dark brown hair, which reflected several shades of red and brown in the soft lighting of the exhibit, hung loose around her shoulders and framed her heart-shaped face and dark eyes. She bore a striking resemblance to Loki in her facial structure, but the colors were all wrong, making the similarities difficult to notice.

They stood there side by side, a foot apart, one reading and rereading the information on the glass panel, the other contemplating how to approach the private and dangerous-looking man, in quiet companionable silence for several minutes until the youth had gathered enough courage to speak. She took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled, knowing that a wrong move could scare away her prey, but that the quiet sound of her breath and the shift in the air would alert him to her presence. She relaxes her body to make herself seem as harmless and nonthreatening as she can.

The dark man's eyes, which had been slowly moving over the text, speed up fractionally to be able to see the newcomer put of the corner of his eye. He shifts his gaze to appear to stare at a photograph, and carefully, he catalogs every detail about her that he knew, from the colors and pattern of her bright scarf to the introverted and shy personality that her stance suggested.

Suddenly, she turns her head to look at him as if for the first time, and then she shifts her stance to fully face him. He turns to look at her, seeing that she intends to make a comment about something. However, instead of a comment about the display, the young woman respectfully bows her head and gives a quiet, but friendly little "Hi."

Hiding his surprise, he nods back, returning the small greeting, but in an emotionless voice. The girl, seeing and hearing his response, surreptitiously looks around to make sure that no one is watching them, then tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, making a gesture for him to follow her as she raises and lowers her hand. She then turns to the picture of J. Barnes, gives a salute with a little smile, then turns and quickly walks in a casual way to a dark corner of the exhibit. Curious, the dark man follows.

The girl leads him out of the exhibit, and into the crowded main halls of the Smithsonian. He catches up with her, and she puts her arm in his, leaning towards his ear and whispering "We are friends because my parents met you at work, and I have been out of town for a week. I just came back, and I have told you about a funny little story that I will finish later, so chuckle and nod."

The girl leans away from his ear, smiling, and the man decides to play along. He chuckles as believably as he can, and then nods as if in understanding of a private joke. Trying to tell the man to follow her while also informing him more about their cover story, she says: "Come on, Jamie, let's come back to my place for lunch so that I can tell you about my trip to London!" The man hides his surprise and sudden suspicion caused by the use of a shortened version of his name, and then replies.

"Sounds great, your place or mine?"

"Mine, I've been baking again."

Jamie vaguely remembers sharing a cookie with a scrawny blond boy. The treat was sweet, and the last bites had still been warm from the bakery.

"Mmm, sounds great. Lead the way."

Then, the girl begins leading him outside, and hails a taxicab. "7720 N. Carson Street." After a half hour's drive to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., they arrive at a light blue, two story house. The girl pays for the taxi, and they get out.

Walking up the tiled pathway through the front yard, the girl glances around again and slips the key into the lock. She opens the door, and leads the man inside. The foyer is plain, with cream colored walls, a dark blue rug.

After the man steps inside, the girl sits on the bench and takes off her shoes, tucking them under the bench next to a few other pairs of shoes. Standing up and digging her toes into the soft rug, she hangs both her jacket and messenger bag on the wooden hooks above the bench. Then, she looks at her guest expectantly. The man, deciding to follow her example, toed off his shoes, but puts them next to the bench due to the lack of room beneath it. He leaves his jacket on, and a glint that could be assumed to be a metal bracelet can be seen at the edge of his write sleeve. Silently, the girl leads him to what appears to be a living room/dining room, sits down in an armchair, and signals for him to take a seat in either the couch or the other armchair.

Choosing the armchair, the man looks around the room and memorizes all of the important details and exit strategies. A quiet clearing of the throat, which sounds loud in the silent house, brought his attention back to the teenager that had brought him here. In a polite voice that had an edge to it, the dark man spoke for the first time. His voice was rough from disuse.

"Who are you?"

The girl gives him a strange look. Now that he really looks at her, without having to appear as if he isn't, he notices the dark green highlights in her hair, which stand out in the bright daylight compared to the rest of her hair, which flows like a river with a copper riverbed, reflecting dark browns, deep crimson, with little streaks of auburn.

But what stand out are her eyes. Her right eye is midnight blue with dark green edging around the pupil, and the left eye is a bright gold, with a milk chocolate brown ring around the edge of the pupil. They give her a sophisticated, distant look that make her seem to see through him. They stare straight into his eyes for a moment, before the girl tilts her head left. "You don't know anything about anyone, do you? Nothing but names and memories that don't even feel like they're yours."

The perfect description make the girl's guest tense up. It seems that the girl notices this, because she quickly continues. "Your eyes give you away. Mine have always let me know who I can and cannot trust. Yours show a man lost in a labyrinth, led farther astray by hints and unfinished maps."

He doesn't know why, but the way the girl looks at him, the emotions in her mismatched eyes give him the impression that she speaks from experience. He shifts slightly in his seat, unnerved. If the girl notices this, she doesn't comment.

"To answer your questions, James Buchanan Barnes," she continues, using his full name and making him start, "Yes, I know your name and who you are, Winter Soldier, but that didn't matter to me when I saw you in the Smithsonian. As I said before, your eyes and mine led me to you."

"My name is Jacqueline Hela Jackson, but call me Hela." Hela sits forward, fingers laced together, elbows resting on her knees. "The question of who I am, though, is a very good question, one which I have tried to answer for more than two years now."

James sits forward, wondering where this was going. He looks at her with an unspoken request for her to finish her story.

"I woke up twenty years ago in the scene of a car crash with no memory, floating 4 feet off the ground. No one saw. It was in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, the couple in the car wreck were incredibly wealthy and had no will, no other family, and so it was assumed that I was their child. Every possession and dollar they owned went to me, a girl who knew nothing of the world."

Hela heaved a sigh that spoke of a thousand years' pressure on her shoulders, strong but tired. The shadows under her eyes seemed to darken. "A girl who has spent everyday since researching, teaching myself, doing anything I can to figure out who I am."


	2. Settling In

**Author's Note:** Hello again, everybody! I'm really glad that school's starting soon, because summer's been so dull lately, but the timing sucks because I've finally gotten interested in this story again. So, there's one thing that returning readers need to know about the previous chapter, and its that I added in a line that mentions a memory about Bucky and Steve sharing a cookie, which is mentioned in this chapter. But that's really it this time. Again, this chapter is just edited to be easier to read. I can't believe it was two whole years since I added a new chapter to this story!

Anyways...Enjoy!

* * *

The two stand in silence for a while, Hela watching the only person she had ever told her secret to, the man considering what she had just confided in him.

The man offers his right hand for Hela to shake. "I'm...James." James had considered taking the name Bucky, a name that the boy had called him in the memory about cookies, but taking on a name that represented his confusion and his mysterious past didn't

"Okay James, so do you want to go to shopping now, or do you want the tour of the house now?" Hela turns to James, her eyebrow raised, hands on her hips, the perfect picture of a teenager waiting for an answer. James stands, thinking, and then decides on the tour. He tells her.

"The tour it is." Hela turns and leads him down the hall. She opens all of the doors, then points at the first door on the left. "This is the bathroom." She moves her hand to gesture to the next door on the left. "This is the kitchen." Hela continues to move her hand to the right, each time naming the room in the hallway with five doors and a stairway. "My office, the den, both of which are restricted, the dining room, which is never used, and the stairs leading up."

Hela leads James upstairs, to the second and more private floor. "This floor has two suites, a master and a guest. Yours is the second to last one on the right, if you need me, I'm the last in the right. I have a library, which is across from my room. You are free to use anything in the library, but ask if you want something from the glass cases because those require special care. The door across from your room leads to a deck that overlooks the backyard.

"Feel free to get food from the kitchen at anytime, but leave a note when you want something specific, like coffee or hot sauce; you can eat anywhere but the library, and try not to leave a mess. If you do, tell me so I can help clean it up."

Hela turns back to James. "Anything you want before we go out shopping?" Seeing , she smiled. "Excellent. Let's go fill your wardrobe." Suddenly, James has an ominous felling, and a shiver makes its way up his spine. Hela didn't look as pleasant as she did before shopping was mentioned.

* * *

Several Hours Later:

James and Hela stumble into the house, arms hidden under the mass of shopping bags. Hela, grinning like a fool, James with a slightly wild look in his eyes. _Never again, _he thinks._ I am never going clothes shopping with that girl ever again. _They make their way up the stairs, stumbling and Hela barely made it into James's room before she dropped the bags. James, following Hela's lead, sets his bags down just inside the doorway.

He looks around his room, taking in the soft white walls and curtains, and the dark mahogany furniture. A full sized bed sits in a corner of the room, positioned so that the sun from one of the tall, arched windows would fall onto the bed, lighting up the whole bed and giving the room a bright mood. However, in the dark of the evening and the dark blue blackout curtains pulled shut over the arched windows, the room is lit only by the lamps strategically placed around the room. James yawn.

"Oh! Sorry, you're probably tired now." Hela rummages through one of the shopping bags, and pulls out a loose long sleeve shirt and sweatpants. "Here," she tosses them to James, who barely catches them, reflexes hindered by lack of sleep. Finally in a decent place to sleep, James allowed himself to relax a little. "Change, and go to sleep. No buts, its 9:00 PM, and you've had a long day. I'll check back in about ten minutes, but feel free to give a shout or wake me up if you ever need anything. See ya!"

Hela makes her way out the door, closing it with a click behind her. James quickly crosses the room with long strides, checking to make sure that he wasn't locked in. Finding the door unlocked and the hallway empty, he locks the door from the inside and changes his clothes. Falling into the routine he had developed while on the run, James begins to study his room more closely, memorizing the layout of the room.

The walls were a soft white, one wall covered in windows that had cushions on the sills. A large, dark wooden desk with two drawers on each side, sat in the corner against the wall to the right of the door. James opens the drawers, finding lined, graph, and plain paper note books and notepads, along with several pens and mechanical pencils in the drawers to the right. In the left drawers, he found a sketchbook with colored pencils, an electronic pencil sharpener, and watercolor paints.

Closing the drawers, James looks through the walk-in closet, finding shelves and drawers for clothes. He leaves the closet, turning to the only unopened door in the room. Cautiously, James opens the door. Finding a light switch, he floods the room in light, finding a personal bathroom, with two sinks, a walk in shower, a closet, toilet, and tall mirrors above the sinks and in the shower.

In the bathroom closet, James finds stacks of towels in several sizes, a couple of bathrobes, a pair of slippers, and products for washing up. He gently runs his hand across the front of the stack, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric, and closes the closet door, wandering back into his bedroom having finished his exploring for the night.

A minute or two later, someone knocks on the door. A muffled voice requests permission, and James recognizes the voice as Hela's. He gets up, quickly stretches his back, and opens the door to the sight of Hela in a forest green t-shirt, and black pajama bottoms.

Hela leans on the door frame and glances around the room, checking to see if anything seems out of place or is missing. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, yes. Thanks." James maintains a relaxed appearance, trying not to shift uncomfortably, unfamiliar with what he should do next.

"Goodnight, then. Remember that if you need anything, just ask. Wake me up if you need to. I'll be home tomorrow because tomorrow's Saturday," Hela says, pushing off the wall to stand up.

"Okay, then. Goodnight."

Hela turns to walk to her room, and James softly shuts the door, leaving it unlocked, and climbs into bed, pulling the down cover over him. Laying on his back, he closes his eyes, and lets sleep carry him into oblivion.


	3. Discoveries

**Author's Note:** What's up guys? Anything new? (I suck at starting author's notes. Oh well.) Anyways, here's a new chapter to replace the dreaded Note for the Readers! You guys are awesome, thank you so much for giving me the kick I needed to continue work on this story, it's so fun to write and I hope that you guys have just as much fun reading it. Especially to the anonymous Guest reviewer who requested an update, I was pretty much ready to just delete the story or put it up for adoption because I know how much it sucks to start a story and then never be able to read the ending. So thank you guys so much, thank you to everyone who's following the story and favoriting it, even just that much feedback is so important to me and it helps me so much.

Have fun, and enjoy the show...

7720 N. Carson St., Washington D.C.

Sunlight streams through the open window as James sits at his desk, sitting stiffly over a notebook, head propped up in his left hand. A small blue ink blot slowly forms on an empty page as the tip of a fountain pen rests on the paper in a loose grip.

Suddenly, James jerks himself out of his trance, lifts the pen from the page, and readjusts his grip. For a moment, the entire room is still except for his hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pen descends. As soon as the pen touches the page, he leans forward, hunching over the notebook, and his hand speeds, up, words forming on the page and the sounds of a nib scratching across paper filling the room.

_I sat huddled next to a boy in a small, cold, windowless room. He was pale, blond, and scrawny, and his elbow dig into my side as we leaned on each other, talking about what we'd done that day. We shared a pile of worn blankets on a bed, so we felt warm and toasty despite the chill . I pulled a small grin. "What?" he asked, shooting me a questioning look. Shifting to reach into my coat pocket, I revealed a folded napkin, and opened it to reveal a few warm pieces of buttery shortbread and pound cake. _

_"Mary works at a bakery, and she brought these back for me today. Obviously, I can't finish this feast by myself, so I decided I just _had_ to share it with the scrawny guy I happen to share a room with." We grinned at each other, and each took a piece of the shortbread. The boy shook his head at me and took a small bite, trying to make it last longer, and moaned at the buttery taste. _

_"Oh, this is good." We both paused a moment, savoring the taste. "So, Mary's the name of your newest gal?" _

_I nudged his arm, but chuckled a little. "Yeah, she's a sweetheart, and big on the type of romance you see in the movies. We went out to dinner, and she suggested this place that does candles, a band playing in the background, the whole shebang. But she's a real cutie, blond hair and green eyes," I smirked. "And a real good kisser too. Maybe I'll ask her to introduce you to a friend of hers." The boy smiled but groaned too, nudging my arm back. _

_"Aw, shut up Bucky." _

James set his pen down and cradled his head in both hands. The boy had seemed so familiar.

* * *

James and Hela sit together on the couch, an empty pizza box in front of them, watching a movie. Hela shifts, and James takes note. She'd been looking more and more uncomfortable over the past few minutes. Suddenly, she reaches forward and pauses the movie.

"James? Do you remember when I told you that when I first woke up, I'd been floating?" James nods silently, curious. He'd been avoiding asking questions about it out of respect, but something tells him that he's about to get answers.

"It's not the only time I've done that." She pauses, a guilty look crossing her face. "I've been training. You won't have seen it though because I don't train here. Well not _here_ here. It- I'll show you." She stands up and strides out of the room, James following her a moment later. He almost crashes into her when she suddenly stops by the nook under the stairs.

It's lit by a light in it's ceiling, gently lighting the cushioned bench, pillows, and the bookshelf that covers the entire back wall of the nook.

"Here." Hela reaches out for the tiled mosaic framed on the wall directly to the left of the nook, and pulls the upper rightmost tile up while pressing on the upper leftmost tile. Immediately, she steps in front of the nook and lifts the cushioned bench, revealing not the usual space full of books, but a small platform and a ladder leading into a brightly lit room, and starts down the ladder. As soon as she reaches the bottom, James follows. Once he steps off the ladder, Hela presses a button that closes the trapdoor above them.

"This," Hela says while gesturing to the room, "is where I train."

The floor is covered in mats, and a punching bag and an exercise room set up are tucked into the corner. Tthe wall across from the ladder opens to another room with more mats, while the wall on the left leads into a room lined with bookshelves and the door on the right is firmly shut.

Hela fidgets, not bothering to hide her nervousness. James stands at the bottom of the ladder, surveying his surroundings. Moments later, he walks around the room, first inspecting the punching bags, then the weightlifting sets and the treadmill. Entering the room on the left, he observes the bookshelves, desk, and computer monitors covering the back wall, his face a blank mask.

Finished with that room, he enters the bigger room across from the ladder and immediately notices the targets at the far end, then walks along the walls, cataloging the arsenal stored in glass cases that ranged from staffs to blades to pistols to bows and arrows. He crosses his arms and turns around, standing next to the blades, finally showing his distrust and anger to Hela, who had followed him around.

"Why."

"I told you that I'd been teaching myself things. Originally, I was just studying psychology and neurology to try to figure out possible causes for my amnesia, but then I woke up floating above my bed again. I freaked out, fell, and realized I could control it. That's when I remodeled the first time and turned the basement into a training room. After that, I bought a laptop, and went to the library ever yday to teach myself hacking. When I started to get better, I continued to go to the library every day, but I didn't work on hacking everyday so that it'd be harder to find me if they traced my work." For a moment, James looks slightly approving before he frowns again.

"Why did you add this room?"

Hela sits on a bench next to the door. "Once I was confident in my skill, I started joining chats that talked about people of special abilities, particularly the Avengers, and came across mentions of an organization named SHIELD. I eventually found the data that had been leaked in the accident on the Potomac River when the airships were destroyed." Her eyebrows furrow, the corners of her lips turning down almost unnoticably. "The Avengers are people who have powers and use them to keep the world safe. But I didn't even know how to throw a punch, let alone fire a gun or use my powers. So I added this."

For a small eternity, there is silence.

"Tomorrow you will wake up at six in the morning. We will run as long as you can, return for breakfast and a quick break, and then I'll test you on how much you've taught yourself. We'll go from there."

Hela peeks up from the bench, and sees James's face soften for a moment.

* * *

"JAMES!"

James starts, knocking his book from his lap as he stands up and silently rushes out of the library. He stops in his room, grabs the pistol taped to the bottom of his desk, cocks it, and starts down the stairs, careful to step on the edges by the wall and railing to avoid making any sounds. He turns down the hallway, keeping the gun pointing in front of him, and then enters the living room.

"James!" Hela shrieks, diving behind a couch after seeing the gun. "Put the gun down! No one's here!"

Doing a final sweep of the room, James catches sight of the television. Specifically, the news playing on the television. He sits on the couch and sets the gun on the coffee table within reach, and Hela peeks out from behind the couch. Seeing the lack of gun waving, she climbs over the back of the couch and lands with her feet on James's lap. He doesn't push them off.

"James? Are you okay?" Hela's forehead wrinkles, concern for her friend etched clearly on her face. "James? Do you know where you are?"

On the screen is a video, likely taken on a cell phone judging by the quality, of a familiar blond man with a shield fighting on top of a truck.


End file.
